Love Built From Lust And Loathing
by Bethany Sparrow
Summary: Their drunken nights of passion always had the potential of becoming something more; something worth loving. FrUK.


Chapter One

**Rating: T**

**Warnings: Implied sex. Slight use of coarse language.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia but I do have a sister who reminds me of Romano.**

Francis shifted slightly; the rays of light peaking in from the bedroom window irritating his eyes and announcing the arrival of the prayed against morning.

The blond man impulsively tightened his grip on the soundly sleeping form in his arms, nestling the other's head below his chin. The soft breath of the slumbering male grazed over the skin of Francis' chest and the Frenchman entangled his fingers in the other's hair, faintly fiddling with the short, blond strands.

Though he usually favoured to savour the sensation of having the younger man's exposed skin pressed flush against his own bare body, Francis delicately retracted the man's upper body away from his own just enough to gain an entire view of his face.

For Francis, the signal of the morning was quite an unwelcomed instant. Nevertheless, he'd gladly take the chance to take in the sight of his bed partner's peaceful appearance; Francis occasionally joking by saying such a thing seen on the Brit's face should be added to the list of endangered species.

Taking his time to watch over his sleeping beauty, Francis seemed to be trying to memorise his face. Mussed and tousled sandy blond hair, slightly bruised lips, abundantly prominent eyebrows framing his brow, pale skin blemished by a deep red hickey on the juncture of his neck, an overall content look.

'_If only I could see his eyes..._'Francis mused over in his head as his hand unconsciously came up to brush the bangs from covering Arthur's closed eyes. Arthur's face twitched slightly as Francis took back his hand.

"Shit, I ruined it." He muttered to himself in a hissed breath.

Arthur fidgeted softly and shifted closer to Francis as he stirred from sleep, making Francis tense up a little. He clutched to Francis' form in an attempt for any type of defence from being completely roused, and slightly relished in the heat that the French nation's body radiated.

After Francis felt Arthur curl up against his own form, his body froze up a little more as a certain movement caught his attention: Arthur had suddenly become as rigid as himself.

Wide eyed, Arthur swiftly removed himself from Francis' grasp. The flustered English nation silently mouthed in an incoherent language as his mind fumbled over what to say.

"Arthur, please don't overreact," Francis' soothing voice attempted to assure him, yet still Arthur flinched away when he moved his hand toward Arthur to cup his face, "I'll explain everything but stay calm-"

"Where the bloody hell are my clothes?" Arthur was quick to question in a voice a little more higher pitched than he'd liked. He hurried to cover more of himself up with the surrounding white bed sheets.

Francis sighed at Arthur's reaction whilst he stood from the comfort of his own bed, though leaving the blankets to fall from himself and back onto the mattress. He took several casual steps towards the attached bathroom when he heard an undignified splutter.

"W-what do you think you're doing, frog?" Arthur's discomfort was evident in his words as his eyes stared in every direction but the Frenchman's bare body. Francis glanced back to see Arthur now glaring into a corner of the room. His cheeks were dusted a deepening pink and his hands were clawing at the fabric of the bed sheets, as if worried the barrier of material would be ripped from him to leave his body prey to Francis' eyes.

"He's too cute," Francis murmured to himself as the sight caused a small smile to grace his lips.

"Well?" Arthur asked in a more demanding tone, though he still looked as vulnerable as before, "If you're going to answer my question, say it so I can actually hear."

"I'm only putting on a bathrobe," replied Francis before continuing towards the bathroom, "I believe your shirt was discarded in here, but the rest of your clothes should be downstairs."

Arthur's cheeks instantly turned a slightly darker shade at the indirect mention of last night's events. After Francis secured the robe around himself and left the room to collect the Brit's clothes, Arthur released his hold on the sheets and slumped his back.

He let out a sigh and fell back into the covers of his lifelong ambivalent rival of his eternal life. Closing his eyes and nuzzling into the soft caress of the linen sheets, he swore the smell of their sex still hung in the air.

A sliver of green was shown as Arthur peered through his eyelashes, glancing across his surroundings and identifying them quickly as, although he would never admit it aloud, a residence he was all too familiar with: Francis' home. Or, more precisely, Francis' bedroom.

Giving out an annoyed groan, Arthur furthur buried his head into the pillow it was resting on. This always happened. No matter how many times he'd swore to himself that he would never end up sleeping with Francis again, those words always turned out to be so much easier to say than the promise was to keep.

Whilst in their older teens, on rare occurrences the two had had hate sex after or during one of their countless wars between eachother. When they weren't opposing eachother in a war but on the same side, there had been a few occasions when Francis and Arthur would only be reunited after years of battling and share an impromptu yet passionate night between the bed sheets.

But those events were all from their glory days of striving monarchs and actually leading their country's men into battle. Their present situation had become a lot more predictable. Arthur and Francis would go out drinking or they would be in eachothers' presence, accompanied by a few alcoholic drinks. They'd both become drunk and Arthur's current situation would be a perfect example of what would happen next: A night of sex and the awkward moment that follows in the morning.

Focusing his attention once again to his surroundings, Arthur's eyes were caught by the sight of his white dress shirt unceremoniously abandoned on the carpet of Francis' floor. Arthur strained his body until he could reach the piece of clothing and covered his torso, quick to fasten the buttons as he heard steady footsteps approaching the bedroom door.

Francis reentered the door with a pile of clothing carried in his arms. An uncormfortable silence swallowed the atmosphere and dominated the room, though as Arthur reached forward to collect his clothing when Francis layed them on the bed, Francis couldn't help but steal a glance of the man three years his junior. His eyes glanced across the porcelain skin which was only tainted by the love bites that he, himself, left scattered over the pieces of collarbone and neck that Arthur's shirt left bare.

"Get out now," Arthur glowered and any trace of the beginnings of lust that Francis' eyes displayed quickly disappeared. His solemn expression, however, wasn't one he was accustomed to and soon a smirk played its way across Francis' face.

"Ah, but do you not think that I should help you with dressing youself?" Francis was quick to question and stepped foward just enough so that he could lean down and their faces be only a mere few inches apart, "Afterall, we may have spent many of the night's hours in bed together but most of that time definitly wasn't used for resting, mon cheri," Francis was sure to end his risqué sentence with his verbal tick of adding French endearments to his speach.

Francis reveled in Arthur's reaction to slightly leap back into the comforter, his cheeks dyed a delicate shade of red and stuttered a warning to stay back.

'_Now all I shall need to do is tilt his chin up a little, gaze into Arthur's eyes and-_' Francis did what he was talking himself through but when his eyes met Arthur's the Frenchman found himself to be forgetting his next move and quickly backtracked, '_gaze into Arthur's eyes... which are a rather lovely emerald green. Especially when he has such a cute blush as now._'

Francis mentally slapped himself for becoming distracted. Trying to focus again before the Brit so close to being under him, writhing in ecstasy, would come to his senses and push Francis away, he instantly went through all his knowledge of flirting.

"Don't you dare touch me!" Arthur shouted at Francis and slapped the offending hand from cupping his face, "You here me, France? I swear, if you try that again I will castrate you!"

"We both know your sex life would take just as much a blow if you did that," Francis taunted in a composed tone but his thoughts were screaming at himself to figure out what to do.

His mind went blank, unable to think of what he should do next. How could he not know how to seduce someone? It was like an art to him and he was the professional. He was France, for God's sake! Le pays de l'amour!

'_Maybe if I kissed him, would that work? Or would it be too soon for that?_' Francis now even questioned himself as his heartbeat quickened and his mind began to become hazy. He hesitated for a moment before taking the move to close the space between their lips but was refrained by Arthur pushing him away.

'_Yes, definitely too soon,_' He told himself right after spotting the venom in the Englishman's eyes and right before said Englishman slapped him across his left cheek.

"Y-you frog!" Arthur yelled. Seeing his glare only intensify, Francis reckoned that his thoughts must still be somewhat influenced by last night's heavy intake of wine and that trying anything would only make things worse.

"I'll give you ten minutes to get dressed," he noted to Arthur without glancing back and stepped outside his bedroom.

Soon, Arthur had finished putting his clothes back on and had took his leave, neither of them beckoning for the other's attention. Afterall, the two nations had grown accustomed to this routine, though they didn't agree with it.

"Ha, everytime," Francis muttered to himself in a humoured facade, "Why do all I always end up becoming so flustered when it comes to him? It's ridiculous."

For a moment too long he let his thoughts linger on why the personification of England, of all people, could rise such an embarressing reaction from him. And for another moment too long he let his mind drift to the idea that he may care about Arthur more than other people and even himself may believe.

"How absurd. I should really stop overthinking things," Francis chastised himself out loud, "It's nothing but a new challenge for me to win and bed. But, of course, alcohol only makes this challenge unfair so I haven't won yet. It must be that I just get nervous with knowing how stubborn England is."

Francis crossed his arms over his chest, determined not to think their relationship was anything else.

"That's all it is, nothing more."

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you to everyone who read this, it's the first fanfiction I actually got enough courage to submit here. I hope it's good enough.<strong>

**If you think I should carry on please tell me.  
><strong>


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